ƬΉΣ ƬΛIПƬΣD ΛПD ƬΉΣ ƬЯЦΣ
by Frigg Jin Appleby
Summary: The battlefield is quiet, serene. Far away there's a basement choking with gloom, a warehouse that's brimming with plots. The golden spider spins her web and laughs, while the shadows grow longer and the clouds ever darker. It's time to take sides.
1. Catharsis

**Long overdue, isn't? Sorrrry guys. If you just happened to click on this story and have no idea what it is, I suggest you read its predecessor 'The Poisoned and The Pure'. If not, things may explain themselves. **

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><p><em>On the battlefield, there is ash. There is the ash of a fire finally dead. Its embers are guttering husks, and its heat, which once scalded everything it touched, is growing cold. Growing cold with the corpses. There is no one left alive. No one for them to burn, for their blaze has finally turned on them.<em>

_She knows that she's done this. Every slit throat, cracked spine, gutted belly are a result of _her _fire, the inferno that broils below the surface, red-tipped tongues of passion and thirst. This blood, she has wanted it, for so long. She thought she'd never see it, feel its hot pulse beneath her paws. Somehow, it gratifies her, this presentation of gore._

_Now, they share her scars._

_In this red-and-grey landscape, it doesn't matter that everyone she knows is dead. They've fought with her, and they've died for her. Good for them. But she's sated, satisfied, and that's all she feels._

_Moving, she stares down at the faces. Some she knows, and most she doesn't. She's looking for someone. She'd like to know he's dead. Beside her, she finds a little she-cat, pretty beneath her dusting of blood. Her lovely dapples are stained a slowly-dulling crimson. Terror remains in what were her eyes._

_The victor continues down a path simply teeming with bodies. In death, there are no differences, no alliances. One enemy lies with another, locked in lethal embraces._

_The sky is thick with ash. The blue sky above it weeps with it, and seems that the clouds will cry over the slaughter they've witnessed and wash away the sins. Cleaning the battlefield won't be easy. In years, perhaps, this will again be a pretty, secluded meadow, the slaughter swallowed by the earth. Now, it's only a cesspit of blood and demise, already reeking. She should really get out of here, before some carrion creature comes crawling out to lick up the scraps._

_Maybe she's the real scavenger, feeding off this deathly miasma, gorging the beast within she's only just woken._

_Then she finds a puddle of tabby fur, and she's not sure who it is; if it's the one she hates or the one she needs. She's either too excited or dying of fearful anticipation. Before she can roll him over, or even think of touching him, she wakes._

This time round, she foregoes the obligatory post-nightmare gasps, although she can't control the flutter of her heartbeat. This is old territory she's navigating, but she's no more prepared for the dreams than she was in the beginning. They've gotten better over the moons. At least now, where she goes without waking, she's the one with the power. She's already won.

He's wrapped around her, the one that's made her what she is, far closer than he should ever be. But he calms her, with his touch, with the soft, gentle sound of his breaths. He seems entirely innocent, but she knows he isn't. He's got scars, although they're hidden; together, him and her are a matching set.

Slowly, she eases out of his grip, wondering if he'll wake disappointed in the morning, or if he'll even have a clue what he's done in the first place. It wasn't proper, but once she settles her old score, she can love him as much as she wants. Because she's not in one of her dreams; and the fight hasn't been won for her.

"Go back to sleep." She glances back at him, a lazy dark slump in the darkness, and wonders if he's even awake. Just in case, she doesn't reply. Maybe she's hearing things. It wouldn't be the first time. But then her tabby companion reluctantly uncurls, sitting by her side. He's still too close- their fur brushes as they breathe. He shouldn't be distracting her, but every time, she lets him.

"Bad dream?" he asks, his side swelling against her own.

"As always," she murmurs, dragging her tail over the rough fabric of her nest, the irritating material she'd happily exchange for anything else the world had to offer.

"We'll fix that," he tells her, the same vow as ever. Dynamics are changing, but his words aren't.

Even now, they're striving to chase the dreams away. They're still planning and plotting and calling on old favours. It's not a question of if she can purge them from her mind, but when. How bloody and brutal the affair can become. Who they'll lose in the process; just what she'll dream of when she's tasted the blood she's longed for, and if he'll still be there to smile and whisper with her in the aftermath.

Ditching the noble idea of propriety, she leans against his solid tabby shoulder, ignoring the fact that she could kill him in the tomorrows to come.

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><p><em>We don't need no education<em>

_We don't need no thought control_

_-_Another Brick In The Wall, Pink Floyd

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><p>Resourcefulness is a useful skill, if no one knows you have it. Khia's discovered this; she's lived at Tillman's all her life- although she's considerably younger than she'd like to be- and in her moons as something of a resident, she's picked up things. Unintentional tips and hints, offhand information in passing comments.<p>

The toms were flippant like that; they guard the halls, not their mouths.

She always tells her brother where she goes, because in the crowded old house, he is the only one she trusts completely, with her words and secrets. Her observations. Khia is in possession of another two 'brothers' and a 'sister', and although it is clear they share relations, they are not siblings. They'd shared a mother, but that was in the moons after their birth and not before.

Khia and Cariad are not obviously related. She is small and slim, where the black tom has a bulkier build clearly destined for scraps and blood-shedding. His pelt is plain and dark; she is a medley of fawn and dark dust, streaked with dapples. Perhaps her green eyes hold some of his amber, and the right lighting can reveal the flecks of viridian in his molten gaze. Her aunt-turned-mother has the same eyes, but none of her cousins do. The grey tom, Brine, has gold. Ruari and Etch share a charismatic amber.

The others, of whom there are many, are no relations of hers. That doesn't mean the guards don't shove her in a pen with the other kits. They don't share blood but they share a prison. They all look the same in the darkness.

There's a lot of Twoleg junk cluttering Tillman's; these are her resources too. When she escapes on her daily jaunts around the house, she can hide, no matter how bad the smell is. Every room reeks. Khia watches, even the things she ought not to watch, the things she doesn't understand. It's the scenes she spies on that make her think there's a reason they're all kept below in the basement. It's a mercy, misguided as it is.

The more she grows, the more she sees.

The queens who huddle in crates and boxes and all manner of hollow objects are prisoners too. The toms- the Bayard, most of all- do not run one large, happy family. They run a business of repute. It's so easy to begrudge them for it. There's only privilege for some and pain for the rest.

Ru has caught her out of the pen many times. The first, she'd only made it as far as the steep wooden steps. Her legs were too short, so she gave up on the third worn ledge and waited for him to collect her. The red tom later remarked her pout was most unbecoming.

The second and third time, she hadn't learned the trick of silence. She'd been a stumbling, clumsy thing, lucky Rhydderch was the one to find her. Now, he just knew where she liked to haunt, those she was most likely to watch. He wasn't her father, but he parented her. It was him, the silver-tongued charmer, who told her and Cariad that Arrah was not their mother. Tillman's crumbling, reeking abode was not their home.

He'd left it at that, because for once, he was awkward with his words.

Cariad was sullen after that, insisting their parents didn't want them. They'd been abandoned, and it was thanks to the Bayard's questionable hospitality they were alive at all. Khia hadn't want to hear that, or feel the bitterness perforate her skin. She tried to cheer him up, but none of the ongoings aboveground were particularly merry.

He was miserable; she failed at being chipper; the kits around them were whinging lost souls; the pen queen was a snarky, snappy shadow in the corner. Meals were at odd, irregular intervals. Rhydderch visited everyday, looking perhaps a little wistful, and returned her when she was done wandering.

Until the sleek scarred she-cat slips into the house, a dark tabby on her heels, imperial in her imperfections. Khia watches the Bayard hobble out to meet the pair. To her, '_the Bayard_' is a title. To their apparently esteemed guests, it's only a name. For a moment they politely talk of weather and revolution. The grey queen with the scars is called Miss, her striped and benign companion Emory. Together, they pretend not to notice the smell. When they ask for privacy, the Bayard obediently limps, bones creaking, from the entrance hallway. Khia crouches behind an extravagant, discarded blue vase and watches, ears twitching.

Something is different about these two, and it's not the pale puckered skin marring Miss's thick fur.

"This place smells foul," Emory remarks in a hushed undertone, sparing a repulsed glance for the towers of Twoleg treasure. "Even worse than last time."

"We're not here for the smell," the she-cat reminds him gently. "We need every bit of help Bayard can give us."

"It's not for free," Emory mutters.

"It's perfect," Miss disagrees quietly.

This ends their moment of privacy; the Bayard reappears and ushers them into a relatively clean room to discuss business. Khia follows them into the small space. A squat white box is pressed against one wall. Dirty Twoleg garments litter floor, heaped into nests. When trades aren't being concocted, the guards and other toms often sleep here.

"You've asked for a large order," the hunched tabby begins. He rasps in a way that grates against her ears. He's hoarse in a way she'll never like. "Large demands call for larger payments."

"You'd think the destruction of a an old city foe is payment enough," Emory growls. To Khia, it seems Emory holds the fire, the grit that Miss lacks. But she's never walked the grey queen's dreams nor heard the venom of her thoughts. Khia doesn't realize what kind of corruption a vendetta can wreck. But even Emory's bravado in the face of the anile old tabby gains him nothing.

"PureClan is good for business," the Bayard rumbles. "But we aren't arguing politics. We're discussing prices."

Miss flicks her tail dismissively. "We'll pay whatever you want for the lot. Food, bedding."

"We can't give you the _entire batch_. Enough for your doomed plans, yes. Three moons food and bedding, yes."

Emory looks set to argue again. Miss reigns him back with a look that threatens to break her soft veneer. The she-cat appears ready to comply with whatever price and demands the Bayard makes. She's either naive or desperate.

Khia twitches her nose. Over the musk of accumulated rubbish, she smells something familiar and begins to think she hasn't chosen her hiding place quite well enough. An imposing russet tom stands behind her, above her; but he's grinning. With a nod to the trio in the laundry, he picks up her small basket and moves down the hallway.

She's set down on a stack of newspapers, and immediately, tumbles from her roost.

"Spying, Khia?"

She grimaces up at him. "They were talking about us, weren't they? The kits."

Rhydderch lets his smile fall. "You shouldn't listen in on conversations you aren't privy to, Khia. You shouldn't even be up here."

Frustration gnaws at her, stamps her foot against the small patch of wooden floor she can reach. "That's not an answer," the dappled she-kit tells him sternly. But she's afraid. The Bayard was using words like _doomed_, and Emory _destruction_, and she knows they weren't meant lightly. Something dark is outside Tillman's, and the pair in the next room would like nothing more than to drag Khia and her penmates into its midst. She shoves her nose into Ru's muzzle, vehemently wishing he'd stop sidestepping answers. He doesn't seem to like the truth, the one tom she actually likes.

"Don't you worry, Spots. Nothing's going to happen to you, I promise."

She jerks away, because she knows it's true. He's not above abusing his power and privilege to keep her safe, to keep her in the darkness downstairs rather than let her into the one beyond the house.

"It's not about me!" she insists. "What's out there? What about Cariad and Brine and Ruari and Etch? All the others?"

The reddish tom peers into her eyes, consternation on his face. "Let me tell you something about your parents. They didn't give you to me so your life could be thrown away in some futile revolt. You're here in this hole so you can _live_."

The comment about her parents passes over her ears. "Revolt," she echoes. Rhydderch groans, pushing his face into a discarded, dented box.

"Let it go, Khia, let it go," he warns, stooping to clench her scruff between his teeth. He rises again, and she feels the familiar sensation of her stomach dropping through her paws; really, she's too old to be lugged around anymore.

She wants to know more, but although Rhydderch likes to speak, and loves the sound of his own voice, she knows he won't say anymore about this. Besides, he has a mouthful of her neck fur, and prompting a conversation out of him would probably land her on the floor. It's happened before, and though unintentional, it hurt.

But she's not done talking about this. As soon as she's dropped back in the crowded pen in the basement, she'll head straight for Cariad. She tells her brother everything, always.

ALLEGIANCES- TILLMAN'S:

BAYARD: haggard reddish tabby tom

RHYDDERCH: lean red-furred tom

UMBER: hulking dark tabby tom with with chest and chin

CIAR: black tom with wide amber eyes and muscular haunches  
>ROAN: dark grey tom flecked with white<br>OERIC: pale golden tom with ginger stripes and white paws  
>EDOM: dark russet tom<p>

LLWYD: grey tom with white underbelly and black patches  
>ARGYROS: silver tabby tom with bright, round blue eyes<p>

SKAH: long-furred white tom, mismatched blue and green eyes

GUARDS:

RAFAEL: black-and-white tom  
>ENECO: bright ginger tom with white belly<br>ALAIN: tiny silver tabby with splash of white on his chest  
>TUBAL: solid grey tom, amber eyes<p>

BRICE: dull brown tom with darker speckles

EDMOND: plain tabby tom

BJORN: large black tom with squashed muzzle

EDOCTA: small yellow tom

AMENKO: golden tom with white paws, chin and belly  
>NEKHT: white tom mottled with brown<p>

QUEENS:

ETINE: small black-and-ginger tortoiseshell

MEDEIA: sleek grey she-cat with black dapples and creamy underbelly

RIMASE: cream she-cat, dark blue eyes  
>ARRAH: pale grey she-cat with darker, steely streaks<p>

AKANTHA: long-furred white she-cat with green eyes  
>KALLIGENEIA: pale, creamy-furred she-cat with brown paws, tail and muzzle<p>

MEGARIA: lithe clouded tabby, large hazel eyes  
>SKYLLA: short-haired white she-cat with odd, bat-like ears<br>TETHYS: smoky black queen, flat muzzle  
>ZURINA: tiny white she-cat with mismatched eyes<br>LIADAN: grey-and-white she-cat  
>AMBRE: tawny white-pawed queen<p>

ADONCIA: white she-cat with cream back and brown ears and tail  
>GISÈLE: yellow-eyed pale brown tabby<p>

MALLORY: slim black she-cat, brindled with gold

OREA: large golden tabby with paler underbelly  
>YERAZIG: long-furred tabby she-cat<p>

PELE: ticked red tabby  
>BERLIN: dark blue-grey she-cat with black tail tip and paws<br>EBRU: blue merle with dense patches  
>RIO: plump lilac she-cat<p>

EMESE: light fawn queen with a brown stripe down her spine  
>CHIASA: blue tabby tortoiseshell with white legs and underbelly<br>BASILIA: pale sorrel she-cat

BELAKANE: fawn tabby she-cat

FUMBE: bulky black she-cat, white tail tip  
>ISOLD: pale grey she-cat with white socks and icy blue eyes<p>

ANWYN: chocolate tabby she-cat

ELUNED: dark grey she-cat with white paws and pale flecks

RHAMANTUS: small yellow tabby she-cat

KAMALA: petite red tabby

SARIKA: short-furred white she-cat with dark grey spots on her head, lower legs and tail

JAELLE: long-legged brown mink she-cat

KITS OVER THREE MOONS:

ANAT: white she-kit with brown muzzle and tail

CEADDE: grizzled black tom-kit

WREN: pale lavender tabby she-kit

RUARI: dark russet tabby tom with bright amber eyes

CARIAD: bulky black tom with short tail

ARGANTE: sleek silver tabby she-kit with dark fawn stripes

MODRON: dark golden tabby she-kit

CHIMALLI: pale brown tabby tom

BRINE: grey tom flecked with darker streaks, gold eyes  
>CAPRICE: large she-kit with a thick black pelt<p>

ETCH: soft-furred, dappled grey she-kit

NUR: red tom with faintly striped legs and tail  
>HARROW: large grey tom with one clouded, milky eye<p>

ELETTRA: bright sorrel she-kit with ginger rings around amber eyes  
>BEELZEBUB: ghostly grey tom with green eyes<br>AZAZEL: sandy-gold she-kit, ginger muzzle

CILLÍN: tawny tom with thick black stripes

GIDEON: cream tabby tom with kinked tail

AELLA: wiry cream she-cat with ginger patches

LYRIC: little white she-kit with green eyes  
>JALEH(dew): silver she-cat with faint grey speckles<p>

IIRO: large dark brown tabby tom  
>KIN(gold): heavyset golden tabby tom<p>

TUI: thin black she-kit with white throat

BESNIK: marbled blue-grey tabby tom

SALACIA: salt-and-pepper pelted she-kit

CORT: white tom with dark brown splashes

THADDEUS: bright ginger tom with white paws and blue eyes

BRAVA: faint yellow tabby she-kit, amber eyes flecked with green

AHRIMAN: sleek white tom with round blue eyes  
>GINTARE: tawny she-kit with amber eyes and white stomach<p>

AUSRA: red tabby with pointed muzzle

KHIA: pale, rosetted fawn she-cat

BALENDIN: solid, dark grey tom

IGNÁC: burly, fiery red tom-kit, narrow, dark eyes

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><p><strong>That's it. Decided to roll the prologue and Chapter 1 into one segment, otherwise they both would've been too short. I hope the idea of 'Tillman's' is clear to you; if not, it's essentially a kit-farm. It started off as a Hoarder going overboard, who is indeed Tillman. He's a bit old and senile now, and things are basically run by the Bayard, who sells kits to city cats for whatever his little feline heart might desire. Anyway: welcome to The Tainted and The True!<strong>


	2. Vicarious

_I'm tired of the city life_

_Summer's on the run  
>People tell me I should stay<em>

_But I got to get my fun_

_-April Sun In Cuba, Dragon_

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><p>Caraid is just another shape in the darkness. He's one smell among a fetid many. One more lump to trip over, another rumbling stomach that adds to the din. No more special than the she-kit to his right, the boisterous tom to his left. Khia is different. She escapes their basement prison, even if only for a few moments a day.<p>

Today, she was already gone when Cariad woke up. The light that filters through the cracks at the top of the wall signal it's probably morning. The black tom uncurls and stretches. There's not much room for any movement; the pen is as full and cramped as ever. The air is still stale, so he guesses they haven't been fed yet.

He considers going back to sleep, because there's not a lot else to do, in this cage that's barely metres wide. If Khia were here, he'd talk to her, maybe force her into a scuffle. He'd fight with Ruari and Brine, but the two of them were always a team, and together, they always beat him. If they were still with Arrah, he'd pester her for information about his parents. Or maybe not. They did abandon him, he's found out, and he can't help but be a little sour about that.

None of the other kits here are his friends. He knows once he gets out of here- sold, for better or worse- he'll probably never see their faces again. Cariad barely talks to them, and it's only grudgingly that he sleeps close to them. Every one of them snores. He's secured a spot in the corner; it's colder than the middle of the pen, the main body of heat, but Khia curls up with him, and Etch with her, her brothers just behind them. He knows that it's nighttime, when they miss Arrah the most.

Caraid blinks, noticing, through the gloom, that most of the others are grouped at the far side of the pen- which, considering, is not really that far at all. They're clamouring for a story, because Tethys always gives in if they make enough noise. Cariad makes his way over, shuffling in the dark. He's had enough of sleeping.

Tethys is slumped against the wire. It's hard to tell, with her squashed muzzle, but she may be grimacing more than usual. Modron bats at her paws; petulant, Cort tugs her thick-furred tail. Cariad sits off to one side, wincing as some tiny bone crunches beneath his paw.

"You want to hear a story, eh?" the pen queen grunts. "I'll tell you a story that'll make you _glad_ you're locked up in here."

"Oh, yes!" the kits gush. "Please!"

The black she-cat fixes the group with a narrowed, amber stare. "You'll never be as safe as you are in here," Tethys begins, in her gravelly old voice. The kits stare up at her with wide eyes, already entranced.

"Know why?"

Caraid finds himself shaking his head with the rest of them.

"Because the cats out there aren't just any cats. There are alley cats. There's street royalty. But there's cats who aren't from here. They're our special visitors, a few times a year too many. Would you ever like to meet them?"

Modron, seated at Tethys's feet, nods. She's probably just like the rest of them; desperate to meet anyone new, anyone different, someone beyond the basement prison. The queen leans down and hisses a sharp, "No!" in her face. The little golden tabby recoils.

"They're evil," Tethys proclaims, ignoring the kit with suddenly quivering whiskers at her paws. "We call them the Raiders. They have named themselves PureClan. If the city ever had one, defined enemy, it would be them. _Monsters_. You know what they steal? Not food, not territory- cats. They steal cats and take them away, never to be seen again."

"Where do they go?" another tom-kit asks.

"To a haunting, eerie forest," Tethys growls. "Shadows drape the trees, and branches reach up into a sky that is only ever blue. They kill cats- like you, like me- for sport and fun. They line their nests with fur and bones; give their kits skulls to play with; bathe in blood. When they grab someone, they never come back alive."

"That's it?" someone says, disgruntled. This isn't the story any of them wanted, at all.

"Yes," the pen-queen grunts. "Now leave me alone."

Reluctantly, they all disperse, because the smoky black cat isn't above cuffing them around the head to get her point across. Caraid rises to his paws, intent on getting back to his spot and defending it from the others who might steal. It's all he's got, in this world, to protect. A patch of concrete.

Before he can reach his corner, someone darts in front of his paws, and he sprawls on the ground, grunting in surprise. Bumping into other cats isn't a rare occurrence, here where it is so dark. A small, warm shape cushions his fall with a very feminine yelp; for a moment he thinks it may be his sister, but it isn't because her smell is all wrong.

_I mean, not that it's wrong_, Cariad thinks. _It's a nice smell, honestly, it's just not Khia's._

The kit beneath him struggles, gasping for air. Sheepishly, Cariad climbs to his feet and mumbles a quick "Sorry."

His landing pad gets up, shaking dust out of her gingery fur. In the gloomy light, it appears to be a pale cross between gold and speckled yellow. He doesn't so much as see but _feel_ her glare. Then he's recoiling, because her very sharp claws have nicked his cheek. This is a shock, because Ruari and Brine never use claws against him when they play. This is also a shock because he's bleeding; he never knew he could do that. A drop of blood wets his lip, and it tastes metallic- it tastes how the wire fence smells.

"Oaf," she snarls, in a voice so filled with venom it could rival the guards'. Instinctively, Cariad fluffs out his fur and mimics her teeth-baring grimace. A grey tom-kit appears at her shoulder, nudging her away. She sends him a final hiss and shies away from her friend's touch. He doesn't know her name. Maybe she tends to stick to corners, just like him.

He makes back to his spot, where his littermates are tearing a piece of newspaper to shreds. He pushes past them without a word and curls up again. Khia ought to be back soon. They don't like being parted for long. She's encouraged him to go with her, on more than one occasion, but he's not nimble like his sister. He'd struggle to climb the fence, to slink past the slumbering toms like she does. Cariad doesn't think Rhydderch likes him as much as he does her. Maybe Khia only reminds Ru of himself.

Bored, he licks his paw- he learned to ignore the taste of dust and dirt on them days ago- and swipes it across his cheek. It still hurts, and he winces; this is nothing like the bruises he gained in play-fights. He peers down at his forepaw- something dark and sticky coats the pad. He sniffs it- it's the metallic liquid. He licks it away, because it doesn't taste so bad. It's reminds him of the prey they get, among the old, dry biscuits and the rags dripping with water, only this is fresh.

There's a sudden _thumpthumpthump_ to Cariad's right- the distinctive sound of Rhydderch scrambling down the stairs. The black tom pricks his ears and raises his muzzle, because Khia is probably with him. He can faintly see Rhydderch approaching the fence, face distorted by the thin wires. In the next moment, Khia is deposited back in the pen. She nods as the russet crouches, mumbling something to her through the barrier. Etch scurries over to them, beaming at the sight of her father. Her brothers start a tussle and begin to show off.

Khia moves over for her dappled littermate, and then, spotting Cariad, hurries over to him. She looks about as serious as he's ever seen her- more sombre, even, than when they were separated from Arrah.

"What?" he asks, forgetting any semblance of a greeting.

She ignores him, muttering obscenities she can only have learned upstairs. They're directed at the Bayard, mostly, with a few rude words dedicated to Rhydderch and his timing.

"_What_?" he demands, again.

She glances at him, then digs her claws into a tiny scrap of abandoned newspaper. "The Bayard. As usual." That seems about as much as she's willing to say, but he knows his sister; she'll spill it all only after taunting him a little first. He tilts his head on the side and waits for more.

"They're planning a big trade. Some she-cat and a tom. Talked about some old city 'foe', PureClan or something. It's not _just_ a trade, Cariad, there's more than that."

He blinks; wasn't cranky old Tethys just talking about PureClan?

"Tethys says they kill things," he tells her, unhelpfully. She ignores this.

"It's more than a trade. It's a revolt. A rebellion! And they want to drag us into it. But I don't think Rhydderch will let me go."

He stares at her and wonders why the idea of rebellion is so attractive to her. Cariad is glad she has Rhydderch's protection, because he knows how much she'd love to run headlong into the light, the glory and fabled fame she thinks war will offer her. But Khia is only a kit, and a small one at that, and the creatures in Tethys's latest story use death to spice up an idle, boring day.

At the top of the of the stairs, the battered door is flung open. A pale yellow light seeps into the basement in its absence; although all of them in the pen wince, they can't help but stare at it. They were born in that light and taken from that light. All of them want it back. Indistinct, the Bayard's voice drifts down to them, snapping the guards from their sleep. They scramble to attention; today it's Tubal and Amenko. Both are fond of naps.

Moving from the light, a dainty silver tabby moves carefully down the worn, smooth steps. A dark tabby follows at her shoulder, whiskers brushing her pelt. Reluctantly, the Bayard hobbles after them, slowly placing one paw after another. As far as Caraid knows, he hasn't been done here in years. He reaches the bottom and breathes heavily for a moment, leaning against the bottom step.

"Open the gate," he croaks at Tubal. The pair he's brought with him now stand in darkness. Hurrying to comply, the grey guard knocks the latch open with his nose. Unused to moving, the gate sits in place, until Tubal hooks his claws into the gridwork of wire and pulls it open. He and Amenko enter the pen, rounding the kits up into one big group. Khia sticks close by him; and then they're filtering out of the gate, far too slow for the guard's tastes. They mill around in one large, confused group, staring at the hunched old tabby they've only ever seen a few times in their life. None of them knows him, really, but they know he's the reason they're living their kithoods in a basement.

"In a line," the Bayard commands, and the guards echo it, hiss it until they scurry to find positions, a haphazard arrangement stretching from one wall to the other. Khia's shoulder, short as she is, presses against his belly. On his other side, a tabby jostles against him. The silver tabby steps forward, trying not to grimace in a very obvious fashion at the stench they've all lived in for moons. Caraid is also forced to push back a grimace, because now he can see the soft pink scars she wears. Her eyes look soft and gentle in contrast.

Her tabby never leaves her side; somehow, he's attuned to her movements, stepping where and when she does, but his eyes are on the assembled kits, his prospective trade.

She begins pointing certain kits out with her tail; they're quickly butted out of line and huddle in a corner. It's clear she's favouring a recurring theme; the big ones, the strong ones, the wiry, lean, tough ones. He sees Ruari and Brine go. He sees Etch stay; little Etch, who's still staring at her father.

The pair reach him, scrutinise him, scrape their eyes over his pelt and assess his merits. She nods, and he mirrors it- abruptly, Cariad is shoved out of the ragged alignment. He stumbles over to his littermates, and glances back at his sister, the only family who has ever wanted him. No one gets a chance to study her, because Rhydderch is directing them away, moving them along, shaking his head in a firm _no_.

_Not that one. She's too good for your war._

A few more are hustled into their ragtag group. He can't process what's going on. Because Khia was bursting with talk of rebellion, and he thinks, for him, things may very well get worse than a dark and gloomy basement.

* * *

><p>ALLEGIANCES- THE REVOLT<p>

MISS- pale grey tabby she-cat, heavily scarred  
>EMORY: dark tabby tom with black rings around eyes<p>

EVORI: slim black tom with yellow eyes  
>FRAY: brown-eyed black tom<p>

ANDREINA: dusty brown tabby, white throat and belly

AZRA: black-and-white tom

MAEJA: small white she-cat, torn ear

FELIKS: sandy ginger tom

KENNA: lean black she-cat

ABDERRAHMAN: heavyset grey tabby tom

VIOREL: scrawny blue-grey tom

BRITTA: small, lean grey tabby she-cat

MEINO: pale red tom, yellow eyes

GRETE: grey she-cat with soft dapples

TAMID: large black she-cat

AMALIA: wiry fawn queen  
>TAMELA: fat calico she-cat<p>

ARAMAZD: steel-grey tom

NADA: stocky tom with thick black pelt

SAHAR: reddish she-cat with white underbelly and blue eyes

IMMANUEL: golden tom mottled with brown patches

KERBOROS: dull-furred brown tom

SAGA: pale, short-furred she-cat with dark brown paws, tail and muzzle

* * *

><p><strong>The next chapter is a little difficult to write. It might be a while before it's posted, but in the mean time, you could check out the A Drabble A Day challenge I'm writing.<strong>


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